


Solitary

by danielle_everlark



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Multi, Physical Abuse, Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-02-28 13:51:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2734913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danielle_everlark/pseuds/danielle_everlark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Creely leads us through another set of doors to the area where the window was facing. My heart drops in my stomach when I see who is waiting in the middle of the room. "Why Mr. Mellark," He says, swollen, blood-red lips parting in a sinister smile. "I was wondering when you would join our little party." The Hi-jacking of Peeta told through his eyes. (I don't own Hunger Games)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A bright, white light pierces through the dark of my cell; bright enough that I can see the outlines of three figures through my shut eyelids. Footsteps approach me, bouncing back and forth through the thick, sluggish air. They stop next to where I lay, leaving only the sound of ragged breathing and the sharp smell of cologne to let me know there are people here. A gruff voice slices through the air like a knife. “Get up” he says in a commanding voice. Defiant, I stay put, not speaking or moving. If you want me, I think to myself, you’ll have to drag me out of here. Furious, the man kicks me in the stomach, forcing the air out of my lungs and sending a sharp pain through my entire abdomen. Refusing to show any signs of pain I focus on catching my breath. “I said get up!” he yells, spittle flying from his mouth and landing on my cheek. Opening my eyes, I turn and glare at him as I wipe the spit off of my face and push myself off of the ground.

Standing up, I look at the men who now occupy a little over half of the tiny room that is my cell. The guy who kicked me is glaring back at me with hatred and anger in his eyes. His dark brown hair is slightly ruffled, contrasting against the look of control that the stark white peacekeeper uniform and clean shaven face portray. I’m gonna call you Ruffles. I think, hiding the beginnings of a smirk on my face. There is another peacekeeper standing at attention just to the left of me, helmet covering his face, with a gun in his hand.   
Between Ruffles and the other peacekeeper is another man. He is significantly shorter than the other two, with a thin, skeletal like look about him. Big, horn rimmed glasses take up most of his face, and his hair is combed over to the right to try and hide a shiny bald spot on his head. He is wearing a long, wrinkle free lab coat over top of a pair of equally neat slacks and long-sleeved shirt. My mind immediately comes to the conclusion that he is a scientist, sent to study me. But why would they need a scientist? I ask myself, if they want to kill me why would they need to study me? Before I could answer my question, Ruffles grabs my hands and forces them behind my back, restraining them with handcuffs that cut into my wrists. “Let’s go.” He says, grabbing my arm in his beefy hand.

We walk out into the hallway; Ruffles on my right, still holding my arm in a vice-like grip, the other peacekeeper on my left, and the scientist in front, leading the way. “Where are you taking me?” I ask, straining my neck to see through the barred windows of the other cells. Ruffles tightens his grip and smirks “So you wanna talk now?” He snaps. “Don’t worry, baker boy, you’ll find out soon enough.” Knowing he is not going to say anything more I turn my thoughts to Katniss, and am calmed instantly. At least she is safe… I think At least she is away from here, away from Snow and out of his reach. We turn down another corridor and are met by a set of large double doors. 

The scientist takes a keycard out of his front pocket and swipes it in the lock next to the door. A green light shines from the screen right next to the lock and mechanical voice starts to speak. “Please provide retinal scan.” The man puts his eye up to the screen and is met by a laser that scans his eye. “Welcome, Dr. Igor Creely.” So that’s his name, I ponder, well it certainly fits look he’s got going on. The doors open with an audible click. You can barely hear them open because of the well-oiled hinges they hang on. 

The room is much more dimly lit than the hallway we just came through, and it takes my eyes a little bit to adjust to the sudden change in lighting. With my eyes fully adjusted, I take a look around the room. We are in some sort of lab, with microscopes, computers, and other instruments carefully organized around a large, glass window that leads to another part of the room. I can’t help but wonder what all the equipment is for as I look around. Creely leads us through another set of doors to the area where the window was facing. My heart drops in my stomach when I see who is waiting in the middle of the room. “Why Mr. Mellark,” He says, swollen, blood-red lips parting in a sinister smile. “I was wondering when you would join our little party.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re-cap:  
> My heart drops in my stomach when I see who is waiting in the middle of the room. "Why Mr. Mellark," he says, swollen, blood-red lips parting in a smile. "I was wondering when you would join our little party."

President Snow stands in the middle of the room, all dressed up in a suit and tie, his famous white rose resting in his lapel as if it sits on a throne. Snow continues to talk, “You know, I was beginning to think that you wouldn’t show up. That would have been quite a shame…” he says with the start of a frown at the ends of his lips. Glancing over to Ruffles and Dr. Creely, I reply in a careful tone. “Well I wanted to make sure that I was dressed appropriately if I were to meet you.” In reality, I am still in the clothes I wore in the arena. Dried blood, burns and other unknown substances riddle my jumpsuit, and I haven’t showered since before the Quarter Quell. How long ago was that? I wonder, A week? Two days? I decide not to care and focus again on Snow. He is staring at me with a look of disdain clear enough that it could have been written on his face.  
“Yes,” he says, regaining his icy cool composure “well we can fix your mouth and clothes later.” He begins to walk towards me, his snake-like eyes meeting mine. “But for now,” he says as he dusts off my shoulder “I think I can use that mouth of yours.” Disgusted, I shake his hand off my shoulder and am instantly rewarded with a swift punch to the gut by Ruffles. I double over, resisting the urge to puke.

Looking up at Snow, I can see that he is smiling. “Now Mr. Mellark,” he says “that just will not do.” Catching my breath I stand back up and look him straight in the eye. He continues. “I think you will find that obedience and respect for your elders will be greatly appreciated.” Like you deserve any of my respect! I shout in my head. You have killed thousands of children and ruined families! The only thing you deserve is a slow and painful death! Not saying anything I clench my fists and stare past Snow to the wall on the far side of the room. Snow straightens the rose and begins to speak again. “Now, as I was saying before that rude incident, I might be able to use your mouth to help my cause. As you may or may not know, your friend Katniss has stirred up quite a lot of trouble in the Districts lately, enough trouble that many of them are rebelling.”  
President Snow pauses, “This is not much of a problem, as the peacekeepers have been keeping them under control. However, I believe that with your help we can keep them even more subdued.” My body stiffens at the thought of helping Snow. “If I am to be perfectly clear,” he states “in your next interview with Ceaser Flickerman, I want you to call for a cease-fire.” I cannot hold it in any longer. My hands are shaking with rage and I can feel the heat rush to my face.

“You really think I would help a man who sends twenty-five kids to their death every year?!” I yell as I strain against Ruffles tight grip. “I would never help you! You destroyed not only my life, but the lives of countless others! Why would I help you after all you have done?!” Finished, I glare at Snow, breathing heavily. Snow does not look surprised, in fact, he is laughing. “Oh Mr. Mellark,” he says mid chuckle “I was hoping you would say that.” Snow motions to some peacekeepers I did not notice before, and they march over to him, stopping at attention. “Bring in the prisoner,” Snow orders “he is needed.” 

Confused, I watch as the peacekeepers leave the room and return dragging a man between them. His clothes are torn and ragged, and the tips of his feet drag uselessly on the floor. They drag the man to a metal chair in the middle of the room and strap in his arms and legs. Wires that I recognize as jump-starter cables are connected to batteries on the ground below. The clamps of the red wires are connected to the back of the chair, the black clamps lay hanging, ready for use. The man’s head still hangs, concealing his face in shadow. One of the peacekeepers walks over and forces his face up into the light. My stomach flips when I see who it is.

Even though his face is battered and bruised, I recognize him immediately, some of his gold eyeliner is still in place. “Cinna…” I whisper, as a feeling of dread settles in. Cinna hears me speak and his eyes dart to where I am standing. My muscles tense and I prepare to launch myself at Snow, but Cinna sees and shakes his head ever so slightly, signaling to me not to. The peacekeepers are standing at attention waiting for orders. The hair on the back of my neck stands rigid and my heart pounds in my chest as I realize what is happening. Oh no… I think Oh no no no no no… President Snow nods and the buzz of electricity fills the air. One of the peacekeepers takes the black wires in his hand and attaches them to the back of the chair. 

The buzz gets louder as the clamps meet metal and sparks fly through the air. Cinna screams in agony, his back arching and his face screwed up in pain. “CINNA!!!” I scream, straining against Ruffles as tears stream down my face. President Snow snickers as a drop of crimson blood trails down from Cinna’s nose and falls to the floor. Cinna’s screams fill the air as his arms and legs spasm in the straps that bind them to the chair. “NO! STOP!” I beg, falling to my knees. “I’LL DO IT! JUST STOP! PLEASE!” 

President Snow looks at me, a cold grin playing across his lips. “You can stop now.” He says. One of the peacekeepers disconnects the wires from the back of the chair, and the buzz stops. Cinna collapses in the chair, trembling and panting while sweat runs down his face. Snow stares at me with a smug smile on his face. “So,” he says “we have a deal.” He glances over from Cinna to me, snakelike eyes narrowing. “You may take Mr. Mellark back to his room, I would like to have a word with Cinna… alone.”

A pair of rough hands that I recognize as Ruffles pulls me up off the ground, setting me back on my feet. “I am glad, Mr. Mellark,” Snow says “that you have agreed to do this for me.” Not saying anything, I start to walk towards the door. As I near the door, Cinna looks over at me. “Peeta,” he says between breaths, a look of forgiveness on his face “tell Katniss that I am still betting on her.” I look over at Cinna, trying to convey how sorry I am. “I will.” I say quietly. We leave the room and go walk down the hallway leading to my cell. Behind us, a single shot cracks through the air.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recap:  
> As I near the door, Cinna looks over at me. “Peeta,” he says between breaths, a look of forgiveness on his face “tell Katniss that I am still betting on her.” I look over at Cinna, trying to convey how sorry I am. “I will.” I say quietly. We leave the room and go walk down the hallway leading to my cell. Behind us, a single shot cracks through the air.

Cinna’s face fills my mind; every waking moment and every night when I fall asleep. My nightmares are filled with him writhing in pain, mouth open in a silent scream as blood runs down his face. It comes pouring out his eyes, nose and mouth, staining his clothes, draining out of him into a puddle on the floor that keeps growing. I am there, unable to do anything but strain against my chains, watching as his life slowly leaves him.

Suddenly, I am standing above him, my chains gone, with a gun in my hand. He looks up at me, a look of trust on his face. Slowly, I raise the gun, and the trust disappears, replaced with a look of terror. Shoot him… A sinister voice whispers to me in the darkness, shoot him now! Unable to look away, I pull the trigger and he drops to the floor, dead, as his lifeless eyes stare back at me. It always ends there, the gunshot still ringing in my ears. 

When I wake up, my heart pounds in my chest and a wave of guilt washes over me. If only I had agreed to help Snow, I tell myself then maybe Cinna would still be alive… My thoughts are interrupted when the door opens and a girl dressed in rags with flaming red hair is thrown in the room. She hits the ground hard, her body landing with a dull thud on the tile. I realize that she is Annie Cresta, Finnick Odair’s disturbed lover from District 4. Before I can see if she is okay, I am handcuffed and dragged out of my cell.  
My feet bounce on the floor as the peacekeepers continue to drag me down the corridor. The jagged edges of the stone dig into my heels and lower back, leaving the skin raw and sensitive. Pretty soon, two trails of blood are chasing us. We go past cell after cell; some empty, some with people crying for help or moaning in despair. 

Turning right, we end up in a brightly lit room that smells of hairspray, soap, and chemicals. A small group of three people stand in the room, each with their own grotesque addition to their bodies. They stare with great interest as the peacekeepers stand me up and remove my handcuffs. Once I’m up, one of the peacekeepers walks up to the stylists and talks to them in a curt voice. “We’ll be right outside. Once you are done you will call us and we will relieve Mr. Mellark from your care.”   
He looks at all of them, making sure they understand. The stylists nod and the peacekeepers leave the room. “Oh.” says one of the stylists, his abnormally large, and rather silver, eyebrows furrowing. “You are going to take a lot more work than we first thought.” As they scrub, pluck, and pick at my body, returning it to “beauty-base zero” they whisper amongst themselves. I catch little snippets here and there; something about District 13 and a broken dam, but my foggy mind can’t make sense of it. 

About an hour later – after all the dirt, blood and grime is washed from my body – the prep team says I am finally done. Looking in the mirror, I barely recognize myself. The bruises and cuts are gone; instead my skin glows, and my hair no longer has that dingy quality I had grown used to. I stare gaping at my reflection until the stylist with the silver eyebrows clears his throat, holding up a white suit that I am supposed to put on. After pulling on the suit, the stylists fix my hair one last time and go fetch the peacekeepers.   
They take me out into the hallway, grabbing my arms tightly, but not handcuffing me. I guess they don’t want anyone to see the cuts on my wrists. Turning down several hallways, we arrive in the familiar hallway that leads to Ceaser Flickerman’s stage where the interview will be conducted. President Snow stands just outside the stage door, waiting to speak to us. The peacekeepers let go of my arms so they can salute Snow. 

Snow glances at the peacekeepers and slightly nods before his gaze returns to me. “Mr. Mellark,” he says as he swiftly examines my body. “It’s good to see you looking more like yourself.” Shaking off the feeling of violation and resisting the urge to gag, I take a deep breath and reply venomously, “Thank you, Mr. President. Nothing feels better than being held captive for days.” Snow’s snakelike eyes narrow with malice and his lips curl down in a slight frown. 

The frown only lasts a few seconds before it is replaced with a look of indifference. Confused, I wait for him to make the next move. “Now Peeta,” he says, taking a step forward. “I just wanted to remind you that at the end of the interview you are to call for a cease-fire, as we agreed upon.” I nod, trying to repress the sound of buzzing electricity and screams that fill my mind at the mention of our “agreement”. President Snow continues, glancing up at the clock above the stage door to check the time.

I look up as well and find that the interview starts in just under ten minutes. “Ceaser Flickerman will lead, all you have to do is answer his questions and call for the cease-fire.” Snow just finishes talking when the stage door opens and a small wiry looking woman steps out. She looks at Snow and bows in his direction. “Mr. President,” she says standing up “I am sorry for the interruption but we need to get Mr. Mellark on stage now.” President Snow nods and stands straighter, a look of superiority about him. “Very well then.” He says, stepping off to the side to let us through. “Oh, and Mr. Mellark,” he says, grabbing my arm as I walk past. “Remember our agreement.” 

Snow lets go of my arm and I walk through the doorway leading to the backstage area of the stage. The area is dark, the only light available is little pinpricks of light poking through the areas between curtains. I follow the stage-hand through the maze of cameras, wires, and clothes racks as I wait for my eyes to adjust to the darkness.   
Suddenly, we are on stage and the light is shining in my face as I make my way towards the upholstered chairs in the middle where Ceaser Flickerman sits. He is the same as ever, except for his change of wardrobe; which is now a floral suit that was probably made to match the seats. Ceaser slightly smiles at me as I sit down in the equally decorated seat across from him. Waiting for the camera’s to start rolling, I look around and find that there is no audience this time. All the chairs are empty, giving the room a barren, depressed look. 

A speaker turns on from somewhere above and a voice echoes through the room. “We’re on air in 5… 4… 3… 2… 1.” Automatically I whisper under my breath, “Ladies and Gentlemen, let the Hunger Games begin…” The cameras turn on and Ceaser starts to speak, looking directly into one of the cameras. “Welcome.” He says “Whoever you are, whatever it is you’re doing, you are going to want to witness this.” Taking a deep breath, I steady myself, gathering my composure. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the camera right in front of us move backwards, so as to get us both in the shot. Ceaser turns back towards me and gives me a long look. “So…” he says, leaning back in his chair, getting comfortable. “Peeta… welcome back.” I smile slightly, looking him in the eye. I can tell by the somewhat awkward tension in the air that he didn’t expect me to be back. “I bet you thought you’d done your last interview with me, Ceaser.” I say, voicing my thoughts. Ceaser nods, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “I confess I did,” he says “The night before the Quarter Quell… well, who’d ever thought we’d see you again?”   
I frown, remembering that night like it was yesterday. “It wasn’t part of my plan, that’s for sure.” I say. At this, Ceaser leans a little closer towards me. “I think it was clear to all of us what your plan was.” He says “To sacrifice yourself in the area to keep Katniss Everdeen and your child alive.” I start to trace the pattern on the chair with my finger, trying to keep the memories of from quell at bay. “That was it. Clear and simple.” I say, brow furrowing as I remember the deal I had with Haymitch. “But other people had plans as well.”

There is a long silence as Ceaser thinks of what to say. Finally he responds, but with a question I did not want to hear. “Why don’t you tell us about that last night?” he suggests, curiosity filling his voice. “Help us sort a few things out.” I nod, but hesitate as I gather all of the feelings I had in the arena.   
“To tell you about that last night…” I begin, looking Ceaser in the eye and stop tracing the flower on the chair. “Well, first of all, you have to imagine how it felt in the arena.” My mind races as I continue speaking. “It was like being an insect trapped under a bowl filled with steaming air. And all around you, there’s jungle, green and alive and ticking. That giant clock ticking away your life. Every hour promising some new horror.” I pause, take a deep breath and continue, words and feelings spilling out of my mouth like water.  
“You have to imagine that in the past two days, sixteen people have died – some of them defending you. At the rate things are going, the last eight will be dead by morning. Save one. The victor. And your plan is that it won’t be you.” A shiver creeps down my spine, and my body breaks out in a cold sweat as I continue to speak. “Once you’re in the arena,” I continue, “the rest of the world becomes very distant. All the people and things you loved or cared about almost cease to exist. The pink sky and the monsters in the jungle and the tributes who want your blood become your final reality, the only one that ever mattered. As bad as it makes you feel you’re going to have to do some killing, because in the arena, you only get one wish. And it’s very costly.”

Ceaser is staring at me with great interest, sitting on the edge of his seat. “It costs your life.” He responds. “Oh no.” I say as memories of dead tributes covered in blood float through my mind. “It costs more than your life. To murder innocent people? It costs everything you are.” Ceaser is hooked now, staring at me with a look of awe on his face. “Everything you are” he whispers, waiting for me to continue. Glancing around for a second reveals that even the camera-men are in awe, eyes widened, and mouths hanging open in shock.

Well it suits them I think, no one has ever told them what it’s like to be in the arena. I continue to speak, explaining how that last night just felt wrong – expressing my regret over not leaving, as Katniss had suggested earlier in the day. I explain how I lost Katniss, killing Brutus, and when the lightning bolt hit the tree – blowing out the force field. “Katniss blew it out, Peeta.” He says, knocked out of his trance-like state. “You’ve seen the footage.”   
A small surge of anger pulses through my body. “She didn’t know what she was doing. None of us could follow Beetee’s plan.” I snap back, determined to defend Katniss. “You can see her trying to figure out what to do with that wire.” I continue, as my hands begin to shake with anger. “All right.” Ceaser says, holding his hands up in surrender. “It just looks suspicious. As if she was part of the rebel’s plan all along.” At this comment, all of the suppressed anger and rage I kept inside for the past few days explodes out. “Really?” I yell, standing on my feet, leaning into Ceaser’s face – my hands white-knuckling the arms of his interviewer’s chair. “And was it part of her plan for Johanna to nearly kill her?”

I continue, my voice rising to a shout. “For the electric shock to paralyze her? She didn’t know, Ceaser! Neither of us know anything except that we were trying to keep each other alive!” Ceaser gently places a hand on my chest, his eyes wide with shock. “Okay, Peeta,” he says “I believe you.” “Okay,” I say, letting go of his chair and slumping back in my own, running my hand through my once neat, styled hair, trying to steady my breathing.

Ceaser studies me for a few moments, waiting for me to calm down. Once again, he continues. “What about your mentor, Haymitch Abernathy?” he asks. I clench my jaw at the mention of Haymitch. “I don’t know what he knew.” I say, silently cursing him in my mind. “Could he have been part of the conspiracy?” My mind races over all the conversations I had with Haymitch, searching for any hint or clue that he knew anything. Nothing comes to mind. “He never mentioned it.” I say. Still Ceaser presses on, searching for answers. “What does your heart tell you?” I immediately answer what has been on my thoughts for days. “I shouldn’t have trusted him, that’s all.”

Gently, Ceaser reaches over and pats my shoulder, a look of sympathy in his eyes. “We can stop now if you want.” He says quietly. “Was there more to discuss?” I snap, still annoyed with him. “Well,” he begins “I was going to ask your thoughts on the war, but if you’re too upset…” he trails off. “Oh,” I say, remembering what Snow said. “I’m not too upset to answer that.” I take a deep breath and think of all the history lessons we learned about in school.  
Suddenly, a light goes off in my head and I know exactly what I am going to say. “I want everyone watching – whether you’re on the Capitol or the rebel side – to stop for just a moment and think about what this war could mean. For human beings.” I begin, turning to look straight in the camera. I start to speak again, words coming out of my mouth before I realize what I am saying. “We almost went extinct fighting one another before. Now our numbers are even fewer. Our conditions more tenuous. Is this really what we want to do? Kill ourselves off completely? In the hopes that – what? Some distant species will inherit the smoking remains of the earth?”

Ceaser looks confused, “I don’t really…” he begins “I’m not sure I’m following…” he trail off, looking to me for answers. “We can’t fight one another, Ceaser.” I explain “There won’t be enough of us left to keep going.” I pause, letting it sink in. “If everybody doesn’t lay down their weapons – and I mean, as in very soon – it’s all over anyway.” The confusion leaves Ceaser’s face, instead replaced by understanding. “So… you’re calling for a cease-fire?” he asks.

“Yes.” I say, suddenly becoming very tired. “I’m calling for a cease-fire. Now why don’t we ask the guards to take me back to my room so I can rest?” Ceaser nods and turns back to face the camera. “All right.” He says, clasping his hands together. “I think that wraps it up. So back to our regularly scheduled programming.” Ceaser leans back in his chair as music starts to play, signaling the end of the interview. The stage lights dim and the cameras are turned off and packed away. Exhausted, I slump down in my chair, waiting for the peacekeepers to arrive and take me away. Sure enough, the same two peacekeepers – now accompanied by Ruffles – walk on stage, stopping in front of my chair. Standing up, I look at Ceaser and give him a slight smile. “Thanks for putting up with me.” I say, extending my hand so he can shake it. Ceaser takes my hand and firmly shakes it, also pulling me into an unexpected hug. “It’s my pleasure.” he says, patting my back. “Come back anytime.” 

We separate and the peacekeepers lead me off of the stage, turning into an unfamiliar room. Ruffles grabs a pile of what looks like old hospital scrubs and throws them at me. “That suit you’re wearing is worth more than you.” He snarls “Take it off and put these on.” Catching the scrubs, I look down at them. They are dirty, and moths have eaten away so much of the fabric, it could hardly be considered clothes. I take off the suit, neatly folding it and setting it on the table next to me before I pull the scrubs on. The pants are about two sizes too big and I have to hold them up with a piece of rope Ruffles gave me. Luckily, the shirt fit better and the moths didn’t eat away any fabric by the crotch. Ruffles snickers when he sees me. “There,” he sneers “that suits you better. It definitely reminds you of home doesn’t it? Oh wait,” he says, roaring with laughter “you have no home! They burned it to the ground, like they should’ve done a long time ago!”

His words hit me like a train, filling my brain until it is the only thing left. Burned to the ground? Oh God, no! I scream in my head. Tears fill my eyes as I think about my family and my home, but I refuse to let them fall. Rage flows through my veins, hot like lava. My vision turns red and I rush at Ruffles, tackling him to the ground. “You son of a bitch!” I yell as I repeatedly punch him in the face. I can hear an audible crack as Ruffle’s nose breaks and blood starts to pour out. The other peacekeepers are surprised and don’t do anything for a second, but the crack snaps them out of it. 

Suddenly I am grabbed from behind by one of the peacekeepers. Instinct takes over and I run backwards, slamming him into the wall. I hear a dull thudding noise as his head impacts with the metal corner of a wooden cabinet. He slumps to the ground, unconscious and I turn to face the other two men. Ruffles is standing now, gently touching his nose and looking at the blood, as if in disbelief of what just happened. He looks to me and rage fills his eyes. “Oh you’re dead, baker boy.” He says, reaching for the pistol strapped to his side.

Realizing what is happening, I rush him again, but I am too slow. He whips out the pistol as I run past him and I feel a searing pain erupt on the left side of my face, making me see stars as I fall to the ground. I land in something warm and sticky, and my shoulder hits hard on the ground. I hear a pop as my shoulder hits and another burst of pain makes itself known. I want to rise and keep fighting – for my family and District 12 – but the pain is too much, and I let the black wave pull me under, into a dreamless sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She is going to destroy you… piece by piece, until you can no longer tell the difference between the truth and your nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recap: Realizing what is happening, I rush him again, but I am too slow. He whips out the pistol as I run past him and I feel a searing pain erupt on the left side of my face, making me see stars as I fall to the ground. I land in something warm and sticky, and my shoulder hits hard on the ground. I hear a pop as my shoulder hits and another burst of pain makes itself known. I want to rise and keep fighting – for my family and District 12 – but the pain is too much, and I let the black wave pull me under, into a dreamless sleep.

I regain consciousness slowly at first, only aware of the all-too-present pain that comes from my head. It’s like someone took a sledgehammer and rang a giant bell in my head, leaving it throbbing and my ears ringing. Not wanting to open my eyes, I collapse back in my bed—wait what bed? I don’t have a bed, every time I fell asleep it was on cold tile that was determined to suck out every bit of warmth in my body. Confused, I pry open my eyes and look around me. 

I am in a room I have never been in before. Strange, reflective paneling covers the walls and ceiling, and there is no visible door in sight. Trying to relieve some of the strain on my neck, I sit up, only to be stopped by leather straps across my chest, legs and arms that bind me to the bed. How did I not notice those before? I think to myself, squirming and trying to loosen the straps. It’s no use, they hold fast, not budging one bit. Not wanting to sap my energy I stop squirming and instead think about my situation.  
Questions flash through my mind— How did I get here? Where is here? What happened to my shoulder? I thought that I dislocated it after Ruffles hit me to the ground… I have to assume that the peacekeepers brought me here after they knocked me unconscious, they also most likely strapped me in this bed under Snow’s orders. I’m still confused as to how my shoulder magically healed, that is until I look to my right and see an IV sticking into the crook of my elbow, dripping a familiar ice blue liquid every few seconds. “So that’s how they did it…” I whisper as memories come flooding back to me.

“You stupid, insolent boy!” my mother screams, slapping me across the cheek. “That’s the third time this week you’ve done this!” She turns to the counter and knocks three trays of burnt bread to the ground, her anger growing as they clatter loudly against the ground. I slightly flinch at the sound, a big mistake. She sees me flinch and immediately acts, grabbing a rolling pin from next to the ovens. “I’ll teach you to flinch, boy!” she says, raising the rolling pin high in the air. I stand my ground, waiting for the pain to come. The improvised-weapon comes crashing down on my shoulder and head over and over again, each hit worse than the last. The pain is worse than any other beatings I received before, but even now I don’t dare to cry out and fan the flames of her rage.

Just as my mother starts to tire and stops hitting me, my vision starts to darken and fade. Barely able to stand on my feet I look up at her as she starts to speak. “There,” she says between pants “maybe that’ll teach you to pay attention from now on!” Looking at the ground for the first time she sees the mess of burnt bread. “Look what you’ve done!” she snarls. “Clean it up! Then go to your room with no supper.” She stomps out of the room, dropping the rolling pin on the ground. I try to take a step but my legs fail me and I fall to the ground among the loaves of bread.

My shoulder hits the ground hard and I can hear a crack as my shoulder pops out of its socket. The room is spinning all around me, and my arm is on fire as I struggle to stay conscious. I know that if I don’t and my mother finds me, my “punishment” will be even worse than before. I manage to push myself off of the ground with my non-dislocated arm and crouch there, picking up the ruined bread and throwing it in the trash. Very slowly I stand up and grip the counter so I don’t fall again. I tuck the trays under my good arm and slowly make my way to the closet, where we store the baking equipment. 

The room bucks and sways around me, threatening to swallow me whole. Putting the trays away, I shuffle back to the kitchen to get a broom to clean up the crumbs. I get to the kitchen and find my father standing there, staring at the bloody rolling pin in horror. “Peeta.” He whispers, taking a step towards me. “Dad, wha-“ and that is all I can get out before the darkness that has been creeping around the edges of my vision pulls me under and I crash to the floor. 

I wake up on a cold marble table in a place I do not know. Confused I sit up and am instantly surprised that my shoulder doesn’t hurt. Looking around I see an icy-blue liquid dripping from an IV into my arm, sending a tingling sensation up and down it. I figure that’s what fixed my arm. My dad sits next to me in a wooden chair fast asleep, his blond hair plastered to his head with sweat. “Dad.” I whisper and he instantly jolts awake. “Peeta.” He says, a smile smoothing out his worried features. “How are you feeling little guy?” he asks, pushing some hair behind my ear.

Smiling, I answer “I’m okay. Umm one question though… where are we?” He takes my hand and glances around before looking back to me, still smiling. “Oh yeah,” he says “after you passed out I remembered that Mr. Undersee owed me for a little… favor I helped him with a while ago, so I figured it was time he paid me back. They fixed you, Peeta,” he says as a small tear slides down his face “now everything’s gonna be okay.” I wipe the tear away and hug him, taking in his usual smell of flour and vanilla. “Everything’s gonna be okay, buddy. Everything’s gonna be okay…” 

The flashback fades away, leaving me with a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach, a feeling that nothing would be okay again. I guess I was right, because a few seconds later a hidden door slides open with a hiss and President Snow, Ruffles, Dr. Creely, and two more peacekeepers walk in the room. 

Footsteps echo and bounce off of the walls as President Snow walks towards me, holding something in his hand. He is fiddling with it, twirling it around in his hand. I have no idea what it is, but it must not be good because he seems happy- giddy, even – as he whistles with a newfound spring in his step. “Ah, Peeta,” he says, smiling menacingly as he draws to a stop beside me. “How are you doing today? I expect your little incident,” he spits the word out “with the peacekeepers would’ve left you a little sore.”   
Now that he mentions it, I realize that I am sore. My ribs hurt- I suspect I cracked a few ribs – and my head is now throbbing with every sound. “Well,” I reply, throwing a glare in his direction “that’s what happens when you’re tortured.” He chuckles, and I think I see something flash in his eyes. “Oh Peeta,” he says, a venomous smirk crossing his face “you have no idea what torture is.”

President Snow turns back to Dr. Creely and the others and nods. Creely walks away from the group and places his hand on one of the weird panels. The lights above me dim and a giant image comes to life, each panel acting like a piece in a puzzle, forming a larger picture. I immediately recognize the olive-skinned, grey-eyed girl that appears before me larger than life. “Katniss…” I whisper, my heart leaping at the sight of her.

I recognize the image from our first games, and I realize that this is the moment where she said I had no competition anywhere… I wish that were true. “Miss Katniss Everdeen,” Snow whispers, leaning in close enough that the stench of blood and roses is overwhelming “will be your undoing.” He chuckles, his breath a putrid wave that makes me throw-up a little in my mouth. “She is going to destroy you… piece by piece, until you can no longer tell the difference between the truth and your nightmares.”

“H-how… Y-you, you can’t do that!” I spit out, struggling to understand “That’s impossible!” President Snow laughs -at least I think he laughs. The sound that crawls out of his throat and escapes through his parted lips sounds more like a cross between a dying animal and a gurgling pond. His laugh turns into a wheezing cough, and the cough turns into hacking. The peacekeepers come to his aid but he pushes them away, straightening and wiping at his mouth with a white handkerchief. A spot of blood can be seen, turning the white a dark crimson. President Snow folds the handkerchief and puts it back in his pocket, leaning down next to me, an insane look in his eyes and a smile on his face.  
“Don’t you get it Mr. Mellark?” he asks “It’s the things we love the most that destroy us.” Snow turns to the peacekeepers, “Hold him down, I don’t want to miss the vein.” My heart pounds against my chest, desperate to escape its confinement. I have to get out of here… I think, struggling against the peacekeepers as they hold me down. Snow comes closer, and I can finally see what is in his hands. It is a syringe, filled with neon yellow liquid and topped with a two inch needle. “I believe you are familiar with tracker-jackers, are you not?” Snow asks, holding the syringe up to the light and pressing the plunger, watching as a small amount of venom squirts out. 

I struggle harder, kicking and flailing against my captors, trying to get away. Still, they do not budge and President Snow walks closer, waggling the syringe in his hand, teasing me. “You asked us how we are going to destroy you, and this is it.” he says, now by the right side of my bed. “You will kill Katniss Everdeen, whether you like it or not, and believe me, you’ll like it.” Snow positions the needle above a pulsing vein in my arm, snickering maniacally. No, no no no no no no no no I think Not Katniss, I’ll never do that to her, I’ll—

My thoughts are cut short by a sharp stinging feeling in my arm, the needle entering my vein. Before I can yell out, Snow pushes down the plunger and the venom enters my bloodstream. It courses through my veins – fire and ice at the same time – burning and freezing as I strain against the straps. It’s no use, they won’t budge and the pain only gets worse, tearing through my whole body as my mind shatters.


End file.
